


Stormy Night

by welshyak



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, F/M, Fluff, Homelessness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 18:00:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10223921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welshyak/pseuds/welshyak
Summary: A storm raged over Riverdale, and Betty Cooper couldn't sleep. Jughead was fine until the thunder started, and the wind picked up. It was then that he’d remembered Betty’s fear of thunderstorms.Fluff ensues.





	

     It was a dark and stormy night in Riverdale. Gutters overflowed with water, and rain fell in drops the width of a thumb, falling in thick sheets in the high wind. The trees contorted while the wind rushed on, ignoring their protests.

     Betty should have been asleep, she really should have: she had to get an early start to the office of the Blue and Gold before school started. But it was no help that it was storming outside. Betty jumped at a crack of lightning, and the resulting thunder chilled her to the bones.

     Of course, her parents would sleep through this; they could sleep through anything. But Betty knew she was a different story. She had been afraid of thunder ever since she was little. An irrational fear, she knew, but that didn’t ever make it stop worming its way through her skin, all the way into her bones, every time it stormed outside.

     She was tucked into her bed, with the lights on, of course, trying to distract herself from the storm with a book - except it wasn’t working. She didn’t even know which book she’d picked off her shelf. She kept reading the same sentence: “He is not of their kind.  I believe he is of mine. He is not of their kind.  I believe he is of mine. He is not of their kind.  I believe he is of mine.”

     And then the lights went out. Betty squeaked in surprise. She could feel her heart pounding in her ears. This was definitely not a good thing. Her breaths came unevenly, no matter how hard she tried to control them. She felt wetness on her cheeks.

     “Oh great,” she blubbered, “now it’s raining inside, too.” She giggled, wiping the tears away and sniffing.

     She sat in the darkness for a minute, and sighed despondently. Deciding to look out her window, she walked over and stood in what she hoped was a defiant pose while looking at the water pour down her window pane. She shivered at the prospect of being caught out in the storm: the feeling of drowning while wet hair whipped around your face. Betty grimaced at the thought, and sat down on her window seat.

     What she didn’t expect to see next was a ladder propped up against her window, and the very wet head of a very wet Jughead peering in.

…

     Jughead hadn’t had a good day. Well, it had been fine. But the last five hours had been what made the day a little darker.

     The moment he’d seen the almost-purple clouds in the sky, he’d slipped back into the school, and decided to set up camp in the office of the Blue and Gold. He was fine until the thunder started, and the wind picked up. It was then that he’d remembered Betty’s fear of thunderstorms.

     Jughead remembered way back they were seven, playing in the field behind Riverdale’s elementary school. The clouds overhead had swirled with menacing grace, and were swollen with undropped rain. Despite every warning sign, Archie had insisted they keep playing; and they did, because who ever went against golden boy Archie Andrews? (Well, Jughead, sometimes). But Betty could never go against him. So, Jughead stayed, because Betty stayed.

     Jughead had felt a raindrop fall on his forehead, and looked up. It started pouring down on the trio. Betty had squealed at the cold unpleasantness of being drenched by rain, but Archie just laughed and kicked the soccer ball to Jughead.

     “Come on, Jughead! Keep playing!” Archie yelled, over the growing wind.

     Now Jughead was really nervous, but he didn’t want to – or couldn’t – go home.

     A strong gust of wind knocked them all down, and a threatening growl of thunder followed. Archie ran home, because he could.

     Betty couldn’t move, she was crouched, paralyzed with fear. Jughead moved to walk home, but he didn’t have it in his heart to leave her; he just couldn’t, when she was looking at him like that.

     He took her arm, and tried to move her, but she wouldn’t budge.

     “The wind hurt my ankle! Jughead,” she’d said, “please don’t leave me here alone.”

     It may have sounded like a request, but with Betty, nothing was ever that simple – at least not for him. Jughead sat down with her, hand in hand, bent over in the pouring rain. Lightning lit up the dark sky, and there was thunder so loud that Jughead could feel it vibrate through his bones. He shivered in his soaked hoodie, and wrapped an arm around Betty, who was shivering hard.

     “Do you think we’ll get struck by lightning, Juggie?” She spoke between chattering teeth.

     “No, we’ll be okay.”

     “How do you know?” Betty asked.

     “It’s gonna take a lot more than just some stupid lightning to kill Betty Cooper and Jughead Jones the Third.” Jughead had hoped his feigned optimism didn’t show how scared he actually was. But it had its intended effect: Betty giggled through her tears, which joined the rest of the water running down her face.

     By the time Archie’s dad and Betty’s mom got to the field, Jughead and Betty were miserable, but they had each other. Alice Cooper dragged Betty away, and Jughead stood up and walked with Archie’s dad across the field. Before they could get far, Betty wrangled herself out of her mom’s grip, and limped back over to Jughead, and enveloped him in a cold, but not entirely unpleasant hug.

     “Thanks, Juggie.” Betty smiled a tight and scared smile at him, which he returned. They were both too cold for proper joy.

     “Elizabeth Cooper, you’d better get over here!” Alice yelled. Betty limped off to join her mother, Alice taking her hand roughly, and saying something to her, although with the rain, Jughead couldn’t make out what it was. judging by her expression, it was nothing nice.

     “Come on, Jughead. We’ll get you cleaned up then you can spend the night with Archie,.” Archie’s dad said wearily. He and Jughead trudged back home, Fred’s mouth a thin line on his face, but Jughead with a pleased grin. Jughead didn’t even know why. Despite being miserably wet and tired and cold to the bone, Jughead was happy.

…

     Back in the halls of Riverdale, Jughead was getting worried. The storm did not seem to want to let up, and it was getting late. He rubbed his hands together nervously, simultaneously angry with himself for not going out to see Betty – but also not wanting to die. A clap of thunder broke his thoughts, and the lights flickered, threatening to stop working. That settled his resolve: he needed to make sure Betty got through this hell of a storm.

     Luckily, Jughead had a key to the janitors shed (which he may or not have used to stay there once or twice after the Twilight Drive-In was demolished), where a sturdy ladder was kept. Unluckily, it was located outside the school…, but for Betty, he would brave the storm. He would brave anything. She was his friend, after all, _and that’s what friends do for one another, right?_

     He walked through the empty school, admiring how different and surreal the old school was when uninhabited. Jughead stood at the door of the building, looking out into the almost inky depth that awaited him. The rain on the windows of the doors sounded like a thousand fingers tapping on the glass, beckoning him outside with malevolent intentions. He shivered involuntarily, zipped up his jacket, and pushed open the door.

     He was immediately bombarded with the sensations of being thrown into a swimming pool, pushed out of a plane, and falling face-first into gravel, all at once. But he persisted. Jughead felt his way past the lunch tables, to the edge of the track. Miraculously, he found the shed, but it didn’t open easily; his fingers were as cold and as unmoving as ice, but eventually he managed to get it open. He found the ladder, and readied himself to enter back into the storm.

     He set out on a path that he knew by heart: the way to Betty’s house. It was difficult work; trees were broken over the sidewalk, the wind buffeted him against the direction he was walking, and the ladder could not balance on his shoulder.

     “Why the fuck am I doing this?” he asked himself. Another clap of thunder answered him, and he pictured seven-year-old Betty as she cried into the grass on the field. He steeled himself against the onslaught of all nature had to offer, resolute in his plan to help Betty. What had he turned into? Were Betty and he really friends? The idea made him worry about what she would say, but he knew he had to. He just had to know she was okay.

     By the time he made it to the Coopers’ house, he was beyond cold. He couldn’t feel his toes nor his fingers, but somehow, the wind hadn’t managed to blow his beanie from his head.

     He found Betty’s window easily, and set the ladder against her windowsill. With effort, he scaled up it, and looked into her room, and saw Betty fall off her seat in surprise.

…

     Betty opened the window, wiping her eyes while doing so.

     “Can I come in?” Jughead, with a half-assed smirk.

     Betty laughed quietly. “Of course!” Jughead climbed through the window, getting copious amounts of water and mud onto her couch along the way.

     “Sorry about your couch.”

     “No, no,” Betty said, her voice strained. “Oh, Juggie, you’re all wet! What are you doing here?!”

     “I came to see if you were okay, obviously.” Jughead replied, wiping water from his face.

      It was a sight to see: a wet Jughead in Betty’s room, standing in puddles, shivering with his hands pulled tight into nervous fists. He felt for a moment like he didn’t belong there, in his dark clothes and with his sarcastic attitude, contrasting sharply with Betty’s pink – well – everything. But, he decided, it was not an entirely unpleasant contrast after all. _Maybe I do belong_.

     Betty sniffed and looked at Jughead. She smiled, her eyes watery: “You need to get into some dry clothes before you get hypothermia!” Betty rushed to her closet to see what she could find that would fit her friend.

     “Psh,” Jughead scoffed, “A little hypothermia’s not enough to kill me, Betts. You know that.”

     Betty chuckled, rummaging through the neat piles of clothes. She was wearing shorts with little polar bears wearing crowns on them, and a loose powder-blue tank top to match. Her hair was let down, instead of up in the usual high ponytail in which it rested at school. All in all, Jughead decided that she looked… adorable.

     She brought out an oversized shirt and a pair of large grey sweatpants.

     “How will these do? They’re all I’ve got.”

     Jughead nodded and held out his hand for them, and Betty handed him the clothes. “Okay, I’ll turn around now.”

     Before she moved away, Jughead thought he saw the hint of a blush on her cheeks. If he had had enough blood right now that wasn’t frozen in his veins, he probably would’ve blushed too; but as it was, Jughead was too cold to be in anything but a state of survival.

     “Do you have a towel I could borrow?” Betty grabbed a fresh towel from her closet (only Betty would keep fresh towels in her closet), and tossed it to Jughead.

     He stripped quickly and put on Betty’s clothes. They smelled like her: fresh laundry and a hint of vanilla and strawberry perfume.

     “You didn’t answer my question, Betts.” Jughead pointed out. Betty remained still.

     “You can turn around now,” Jughead said. She turned slowly, hugging herself, but remained silent. She looked vulnerable in just her pyjamas.

     Jughead towel-dried his hair and replaced his soaked beanie on his head. He shivered in front of Betty – in her clothes, in her room – and he felt, admittedly, ridiculous. At least now she wasn’t the only one looking vulnerable.

     “Okay, let’s get you warm then,” Betty suggested.

     “Do you have any more blankets?” Jughead tucked himself under her covers, pleasantly surprised again by the sweet, distinct smell of Betty Cooper. “Yeah, hold on,” said Betty, heading to the hallway linen closet, from which she brought in all the extra blankets she could find. When she entered, in the darkness of her room, she realized that Jughead was in bed. In her bed. Her heart skipped a beat when she looked at him. He had brought the covers up under his chin and closed his eyes. To Betty, he looked more peaceful than he had in ages, his usually-furrowed brows relaxed, his usually-scowling mouth slack with sleep. Betty smiled to herself.

     “What’s takin' so long, Cooper?” Jughead slurred.

     She whispered a quick apology and set out to cover Jughead with as many blankets as possible.

     “Sorry, Juggie that’s all the blankets we have in the house. If I had a hot water bottle, I’d give it to you; but, in my opinion, I think you’re going to survive.”

     “Gee, thanks.” Jughead smiled wryly at her, which made her feel heat on her face. Betty sat awkwardly at the foot of her own bed – when suddenly, the storm, briefly forgotten, decided it was done with being ignored. Lightning flashed brightly through her window, lighting her room with a fierce white light. Betty suddenly found she couldn’t breathe properly, and clasped her hands at her collarbone. Jughead saw.

     “C’mere,” he said. He reached out his hand from under the covers.

     Betty hesitated, but lifted the covers and scooted herself in next to Jughead.

     Betty had never answered his question – about if she was alright – but he supposed it didn’t really need to be answered, they already both knew the answer.

     Betty’s bed was not the biggest of beds; it was inevitable that they would touch. Betty understood this, but it didn’t make her any less nervous about sharing a bed, with a boy. Sure, it was Jughead, but Jughead was, certainly and undeniably, a boy.

     Jughead was immediately over-conscious about where their bodies touched: arm to arm, thigh to thigh, feet to feet.

     “Never thought I’d be in bed with Betty Cooper,” he mused. Betty snorted and turned on her side to look at him, and noticed he was still shivering.

     Jughead saw concern on her face. Her brows furrowed, and she pursed her lips in concentration. She was adorable when she was concentrating. Well, who was he kidding, she was adorable all the time.

     Betty brushed back his damp charcoal hair and felt his forehead, and tried to ignore the hitch in his breath. His forehead was warm, too warm.

     Jughead could feel sparks of warmth on his skin where-ever her cold fingers touched his forehead.

     Betty bit her lip in concern. “Juggie, you have a fever.”

     “Yeah, so? Doesn’t matter.”

     “It matters to me!”

     Jughead looked at her with half-lucid eyes, and a small smile graced his lips. Betty sighed exasperatedly.

     “I’m going to have to take desperate measures, Jughead.”

     “For me, or because of the storm?” Jughead joked.

     “Both,” Betty said decisively, ignoring the humour.

      A clap of thunder shook the house.

     She took a deep breath, steeled herself, wished she’d stop blushing, and moved to Jughead, laying her head on his shoulder and enveloping him in a half-hug. Jughead lay still for a second, surprised, but wrapped his shivering arms tentatively around her. Both was sure the other could hear their heart racing.

     “Wow, Betts, never knew you felt this way.”

     “Shut up, Jughead.” She laughed breathlessly.

      Comfortable silence enveloped the room, as the two of them got used to being so close. Every time thunder reared its menacing head, Betty squeezed Jughead a little closer, breathed a little faster.

     “Thank you, Juggie. For coming,” Betty whispered against his neck, just loud enough for him to hear. He shivered in response. “Glad I could be of service.” He closed his eyes. The mixture of having layers upon layers of heavy blankets around him and Betty beside him was lulling him to sleep.

     Betty was no different; having Jughead around made things a lot easier. Especially now, in a thunderstorm as horrible as this one. There was something comforting about his presence. Maybe it was his sense of humour, or how well they got along together. Either way, he smelled like fresh rain and something completely his own, and it made the storm easier to bear. And though she’d never tell anybody, let alone Juggie, it seemed like they fit together like pieces of a puzzle. Something just clicked about them. The pit of her stomach twisted at the thought, and it made her heart skip a beat.

     She lay awake a while longer, listening to Jughead’s breathing even out, feeling his shivering cease and their breathing synchronize.

     Betty was oblivious to the rest of the world, to the storm that raged on outside her room. There in her bed was a little sanctuary, a tiny but sturdy shelter against the rain, built to last. It was Jughead, Jughead was her shelter, she realized. And the most interesting part was that she didn’t seem to mind.

      The last thought that ran through her head before she fell asleep in Jughead’s arms was _What am I going to tell my parents tomorrow?_ But she pushed it away quickly, and succumbed to the sleep that she desperately needed, swimming in warmth and the smell of fresh rain.

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fic, ever. This otp does not have nearly enough fics, so I decided I should probably contribute. Please be as harsh and as ruthless as possible when critiquing my writing; I promise that your comments will help me become a better writer.
> 
> On another note, the first chapter of my next fic will be up in two days (Monday, March 13th, 2017), and it is pretty gigantic. Over 10 000 words! I won't give any spoilers about it, but I can tell you it is pure angst!
> 
> Shout out to my beta, kitseybarbours! You should check out her stuff, it's amazing!


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